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Not that it matters that much. Out here on this island there’s no one much to care. Except…
Well, I don’t want to have to answer questions from Baxter.
Since the moment we became more than enemies, he’s hounded me for my story. Why am I on the island? Why am I so sad all of the time? What am I hiding? What am I doing in the autumn?
It’s overwhelming.
He’d have a field day with this. No. Much better to keep it hidden as long as possible, and when it’s no longer possible...well, sadly, that’ll mean it’s time to leave.
The thought makes me feel…sad?
Why would the thought of not seeing Baxter everyday make me sad?
Crazy pregnancy hormones!
